


dat jeaneren smut.doc

by Sycophantism



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Frotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sycophantism/pseuds/Sycophantism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Eren are fighting. Then they're frotting. Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dat jeaneren smut.doc

**Author's Note:**

> Rockingstairs of tumblr wanted some Jeaneren smut out of the blue, so I whipped this up for her real quick in Skype. 
> 
> It's mostly unedited, but you can see our chatting in between on the tumblr version; http://sycfix.tumblr.com/post/65673930105/dat-jeaneren-smut-doc

“H-holy shit _stop_.” 

They said a lot of shit when they were fighting. More often than not, the insults deteriorated into inarticulate snarls and curses, and the reason for their bruises bled from their consciousness as they concentrated on winning. It was never about being right when one of them threw the first punch; after that, it was all about who came out on top. And it all came down to who could get the advantage.

Close quarters was Eren’s gambit, but there was a limit to his abilities. It had taken many repeated experiences of having his face ground into the dirt for Jean to realize how to use Eren’s advances against him, and it had evened the playing field. Eren was top of the class in combat skills, and truly only second only to Annie; her slacking during sparring had the teachers mark her far below her capabilities, though she didn’t seem to mind in the least. Even so, there was a limit to just how close he could handle. When Jean was practically right on top of him, there was no room to pull back for an effective punch, and no way to get a leg up for a kick before the taller boy could trip him - and then it would be over.

No, Jean wasn’t half the strategist Armin could be, but when he was motivated - and don’t doubt that having his ass kicked repeatedly motivated the fuck out of him - he could figure things out with time. And he had sure taken his time, he thinks back sourly, but he had gotten there. And Eren hadn’t floored him in any less than ten minutes since then, though the tally was still leaning in Eren’s favor when it came to their squabbles (goddamn Connie for actually keeping count).

There was no way to fight that close together. Ever since Jean had implemented this strategy, they’d often wound up rolling on the floor, vying for the domineering position of sitting atop their rival on the ground. It was nearly impossible to hold the position while getting in those hard blows to the chest, face, head, but it was more advantageous than not. It did have its fall-backs, though, and Jean learned that after he took a hard knee to the sides and found himself under Eren more than once, ribs throbbing as he felt the other boy’s fist connect with his cheek, or his nose, or glancing off his temple like it had tonight. 

And, goddamn him, Eren was still better. It didn’t matter that Jean had longer legs, he still couldn’t replicate the move that had pinned him repeatedly. Every time he tried, his leg was knocked aside or blocked by Eren’s own, though raising his knee meant he had less balance and several times Jean had gotten his hands up fast enough to throw the other off and launch at him to try and regain the upper hand. Like he had tonight.

Everyone got tired of their fighting. This time, it was in the bunks, and there was less concern about a supervisor coming across and punishing them. When their rolling nearly tripped several of the boys, the other trainees finally vacated the house, heading for the showers before dinner. Those two needed it the most, but Jean and Eren didn’t get up from the ground. Not until they’d finished, not until they found out who had won. Connie called out for them to tell him, so he could count it, before shutting the door behind him.

Jean took the opportunity of privacy to swing hard and slam a fist into Eren’s temple, throwing the boy off of him yet again. Scrambling to a crouching position - vision swimming from the shot his own head had taken - he pounced on top of Eren, knee digging into the floorboards between his legs to keep his knee from coming up and knocking him over. The other leg was a threat, and he dug his fingers into Eren’s tigh to keep it down. This would work, this would keep him from throwing Jean off. Or, he hoped so. But there was no room for doubt in war, and with his free hand he punched Eren again.

Writhing underneath him, Eren jerked his pinned leg up, knee hitting Jean’s ass with pitiful weight. Still, the taller boy growled, reaching down and swatting Eren upside the head. Bucking up against the other in an attempt to throw his balance off did no good, and it left Eren trying to catch his breath as every violent movement was restricted by Jean’s overbearing presence above him. And each second he wasted failing to retake the lead was another second Jean spent ensuring he wouldn’t.

Jean only had one hand, and he dug the fingers into Eren’s shoulder, dragging him up and shoving him down. Squirming, twisting his shoulder, Eren threw a punch that sailed past Jean’s head and gave him the opportunity to grab it. Clenching Eren’s wrist in a painful grip, he dragged it around behind the other’s head so his elbow was pointing across the room and pinned him like that. The position was awkward enough so it left Eren’s other arm flailing, somehow getting high enough to grab Jean’s collar and jerk him down. Not far enough to compromise his balance, though, and Eren swore as the room spun around him. That punch had kept his equilibrium playing ring-around-the-rosie and it was only just starting to slow down.

Seeing Eren’s head lolling slightly, his eyes unfocused, Jean jerked his head back and broke the other’s grip on his jacket. A frustrated snarl tore itself from Eren’s lips and he bared his teeth, grasping at him. Leaning further away, Jean kept himself out of reach.

The tightness of his grip was deceptive; Jean was dizzy, head swirling thickly as his temple throbbed in tune to his pulse. Eren didn’t know it, from the way his arm was kept pinned. Both of them were briefly incapacitated, the adrenaline surging and making it difficult to see straight.

Tipping, feeling unsteadt, Jean shifted his knees and spread his legs to widen his stance and find more room to balance. A hitched sound drew his bleary attention downwards, and he narrowed his fuzzy vision down at Eren. The other looked pained, arching his shoulders and trying to drag his hand away from the back of his head where Jean had it pinned. Without thinking, Jean jerked his knee forward and heard the rush of air as it left Eren’s lungs. Normally shots at the groin were avoided - they didn’t always fight fair, but there was just a certain etiquette between men, even if they hated each other - but it twisted Jean’s stomach with sick pleasure to see how uncomfortable it made Eren, how his brows knit tightly in pain, how his lips parted and he groaned.

The next time he did it, the illusion shattered. “H-holy shit _stop_.” Jean froze, staring dumbstruck at Eren as his vision cleared.

“Fucking Christ, Jaeger, are you _hard_?” That was an entirely different sort of pain on Eren’s face, and not one that Jean wanted to be the cause of. “Fuck!” Should he back off? Would it count as giving up - count as a loss? Connie might think so. Maybe it would be a tie, if they both conceded. But how the hell would he explain that they just came to a truce in the middle of a fight? No way he was telling anyone that Eren had gotten a fucking erection during - fuck, did he always get like that? No, no way.

No way, he’ll think later, because he’s never gotten hard either, and it was only moments before his own cock would be digging into the crotch of his pants because when Eren’s knee shot up, his thigh dragged against Jean’s groin and with a sharp upward thrust of his hips, he dislodged the taller figure and swung him off, gripping his shirt and following until he was kneeling over him - and suddenly sitting, heavily, on Jean’s lap, or just above, and there was heat over his dick and it strained towards it.

When had he let go of Eren’s hand? Probably when a jolt of pleasure had shot up into his gut with the friction of Eren’s pants against his goddamn erection, where the fuck had _that_ come from. 

Eren was on top of him, and when Jean swung his fist was caught. And the other, when he repeated the motion, and then Eren had them both pinned on his chest and he was leaning forward to push his weight down on them. It dug the outline of his hard cock right into Jean’s navel and he grimaced at the feeling, rolling his shoulders and trying to drag his arms free. “Eren--”

“Shut up, shut up,” Eren groaned, hips jerking forward, grinding down against Jean’s stomach. “Oh fuck, fuck--”

“Ere--!”

Kneeling, Eren shoved his ass backwards, pinning Jean’s cock against the inside of his thigh and making him yelp. A slow downward twist of his hips dragged the length along the material of his crotch and a moan spilled past his lips, ass rising with a jolt as he thrust mindlessly towards that spark of pleasure.

Suddenly his hands were free, and Eren splayed his own across Jean’s flat stomach, arching and dragging lower until their crotches were flush together. Immediately, instinctively, they both pushed into that heat and they shouted at the feeling, the harshness of the pressure but the pleasure that exploded behind their eyelids making them keep their weight together. Without thinking, acting on reflexes born of months of fighting, Jean punched Eren, felt the wind rush out of his lungs as his arms crumple and he collapsed onto the other’s chest.

There was less friction against his cock and Jean reached down, grabbed the belt wrapped around Eren’s waist and yanked on it, dragging his lower half down and grinding up against him. Breathlessly, wheezing, Eren cried out, fingers scrabbling on Jean’s shirt before finding purchase, dragging at it as his hips worked of their own volition, rutting down against the heat and the pleasure and he was desperate, desperate for release.

His head was still swimming and Jean was pretty sure he’d already lost, that Eren had slammed his head against the floorboards and he was having a horrible, horrible wet dream, but it felt good, felt too good to care too much. Hard thrusting, grinding and jerking against each other, and then Eren buried his face in Jean’s shoulder, a strangled howl ripped out of his throat as he suddenly grabbed Jean’s hips, fingers digging in with bruising strength, and pinned him flush to the ground, his own hips slamming down and holding there, his entire frame shaking violently as he came in his pants, grinding deliberately into Jean. The constant pressure made Jean tip his head back and cry out towards the ceiling, ass clenching as he tried to arch his hips and found himself unable to break free of Eren’s hold. He made do with what little mobility he had, writhing and grabbing Eren’s belts, dragging him down and forcing their cocks together through too many layers of clothes.

Somewhere along the line he passed out. When he came to, his head was throbbing in tune with his pulse, and so was his cock, and both of those things were the first he noticed until he felt warm breaths on his neck and he froze.

Eren was still laying on him, panting, and faintly, through his shirt, Jean could feel the other’s heart slamming against his ribcage. It made him notice how fast his own pulse was, and he figured maybe he hadn’t passed out, had only closed his eyes. Was he that tired?

A low groan muffled itself into his neck and he grimaced. With weak arms, Jean shoved Eren off and felt the boy roll onto the ground beside him. For several minutes they lay there, trying to catch their breath. And thinking. Thinking a lot.

Then they weren’t thinking, they were waking up, startled by shouts of alarm. Both groaned at the sound, covered their ears, grumbled at their friends to quiet down. It was disconcerting, how alike those two were when they weren’t at each other’s throats. 

Apparently they’d been out longer than they’d thought, because dinner was over and it definitely hadn’t taken over an hour for them to frot their way into a delirium-induced orgasm. Their friends dragged them to their feet, and they were still dizzy, and then they were carried between two larger bodies - Reiner and Bertholdt for Jean, Marco and Connie for Eren - to the nurses. 

And even as they were diagnosed with twin concussions, their minds were still coherent and synchronized enough to be thinking the same thing.

‘At least our pants are white,’ Jean thought drowsily, shooting a glare at Eren while the other boy returned the look.

‘Good thing our skirts are in the way,’ Eren groaned silently to himself, looking away when Jean did and trying to pretend he didn’t see the flush creeping up the other boy’s face, or feel the one in his own face.


End file.
